Secret of the Daisies
by AdventureSpacePrincess
Summary: American Richie Lamb had just lost his mother, Mary Lennox. After putting a bullet in her head, his father goes into a severe depression and Richie is sent to England. Now in a new country, with a new life, he discovers the mystery of his mother and why she decided to end it all. Dickon/Mary, Colin/Mary (WARNING: HAS SENSITIVE AND EXPLICIT CONTENT REGARDING MENTAL HEALTH.)
1. Chapter 1

**THE SECOND GREAT TRAGEDY**

"Practice your typing," Mom said. My fingers glided across the typewriter with ease. I'm often praised for it. _Never have I seen a child at your age with such incredible skill._ These days you could hardly say twelve is a child, but that's how they see me. My mom was adamant I had a proper education. She said if Dad had a proper education, he'd understand how money worked. I used to think I knew what she meant, but I'd find out later that I didn't know a single thing about her "Are you typing?" she'd ask and my hands would start typing again. I only paused for a moment. I felt my fingers cramp. The heavy keys began to become harder to push down and then my typing became less elegant.

I'm used to typing with such great focus that I didn't see her face. I didn't see her tears. After she died, I wondered if the stains had been there already or if she made them just a few moments before her death. "Keep typing," she instructed me. She put her hand on my head and stroked my hair. I tried to turn up and look at her. I only stopped for a moment to look up at my mom and smile, but then her hand slipped from my head and she said, "You're not done." My eyes moved back to the keys as I copied every word from the books she lent to me. I didn't see her face.

Dad was at work. He worked hard down by the docks, tossing sacks of fish into crates for processing. After the sailor's catch of the week, he'd go to the warehouse where he would gut and de-scale every fish they pushed at him. He didn't stop until the job was done, but the job wouldn't be done til later in the afternoon. Mom would have dinner ready and she wouldn't bother dad about washing up. He smelled of fish guts and moldy sea, but Mom said nothing. He worked hard and came home barely able to hold his own weight, and because of it, she placed his plate down first. We always waited for Dad to come home before we began eating, so he could be served first.

But the night when I couldn't see her face, when I was too focused on my typing, Dad came home early. Before that, I can assure you he never came home early. I remembered how he burst through the door, his panicked eyes meeting my gaze. "Where's your mother?" he asked me. I could tell he tried to sound calm but his voice was strained. I was too confused and focused on my work. I didn't understand what he meant.

"Wha-"

"WHERE!?" he shouted. The panicked expression turned into something crazed and animalistic. For a moment I didn't see my dad but an angry wolf. His teeth were bared and his stance tense and ready for attack. I was going to answer him but-

 _BANG!_

Our heads spun.

I can't possibly explain to you the sound of that pistol going off, how abrupt it was, so surreal. The way I explained it now gave it no justice, it was too sudden and neither my dad or I expected it. Dad kicked off and ran toward the bathroom. It was locked. I heard the bang, bang, bang, when he'd throw his shoulder into the door. It took him exactly a minute to break it down, but it felt like hours. Then the wood snapped from the frame and everything was in full view. Red splattered the wall like a flowering rose. My mom's head was bobbing just slightly in the bathwater.

Dad picked her up with one arm, his breathing becoming quick and harsh. "Call someone!" he said. I didn't move. My eyes locked on the sight of my mom. My dad screamed as before but his face streaming with tears, "BLOODY CALL SOMEONE!"


	2. Chapter 2

**WHAT'S LEFT BEHIND**

1 Day After Tragedy

"Richie," Dad whispers, shaking my shoulder, "C'mon. It's time to wake up son." I push his hand away, but the patience in his tone was thinning. "I'm not going to ask you again."

I didn't understand, at first. I rubbed my eye, wiping away the thick crust that gathered together mysteriously while I slept. I thought, _Why were we waking up so early? Is it Sunday? Usually Mom is the one-_

I stop as the sudden realization hit me.

 _Oh yeah. Mom._

That day's scene played again in my head. The sound of the pistol and then the smell of blood. Dad screaming at me while trying to keep mom's head above water.

" _BLOODY CALL SOME ONE!"_

 _I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. It was all a dream. It had to be._

" _Richie!?" Dad called out to me, desperate that I'd respond, but I didn't. My hands felt heavy. My eyes dropped back to them. They were pale and shaking. I couldn't stop the shaking. I heard the sound of Dad carrying mom out of the tub. Heavy flows of red water dropped to the floor like a river bursting. My dad almost slipped on it trying to stand. He ran out the door with her and then you could hear the commotion. Everyone came to her aide, but I stayed inside. My eyes were watching my hands vibrate._

 _Couldn't he see? That wasn't mom. That was a lifeless body that was once Mom's. Like a shell and Mom was gone now. She was gone and she didn't even say goodbye._

It was a dream. I was so sure of it. I was so sure that I woke up the following morning forgetting for just a moment she was gone. In those brief moments of ignorance I was at peace, though I didn't realize it at the time. Once again, I gave no appreciation to the presence of my mom. Then when I remembered the truth, that blissful ignorance felt like years ago. I closed my eyes and pulled the sheets over my nose, consoling myself with the thought, _Maybe if I fell asleep now, I'd dream of her._

Suddenly, I felt the sheets rip away from me, and a stack of folded clothes are thrown at me. "Get. Dressed." Dad said, his tired eyes swollen and red.

…

1 Week After Tragedy

Funerals are not beautiful when you have no money. She was given the best 'burial' our money could buy, which was less than she deserved. There was only the two of us. We didn't even have a priest. She was cremated and we gave our final goodbyes to her as we poured her ashes out of her vase and into the sea.

She deserved more than that. She deserved a parade. She was my mom.

…

2 Months After Tragedy

Slowly I found the strength to pull on my trousers and my shirt. The weight of it was more than it ought to be. Then Dad walked in. "Are you not dressed yet? I cann-" Dad paused to take a deep breath, his face turning pink and his ears already red, "I have to trust you to put your mother's things away-"

"What do you mean _away_ and if it's so important to you, why not _you_ do it?"

Dad pointed at me, making aggressive strides "Don't be giving _me_ that tone." I stopped talking and he stopped walking, his angry expression turning into a somber one. "I need your help," he whispered and taking a look around he added, "I can not do this on my own." Finally he locked eyes with me again, "Can I trust you, son?"

My bed was in the sitting room. A quick glance around the room and it becomes less clear what belongs to my mother and only my mother. Some of these things, if not most of them, belong to both my father and my mother. I start to think of what would happen if I packed the wrong things. I had no choice but to try my best. I nod at my Dad and he pulled me into an embrace.

My Dad never hugs me.

...

4 Months After Tragedy

The wardrobe wasn't full of much. It contained four dresses. A nightgown, mom's Sunday dress, and three of her everyday dresses. Next to their bed I found a box filled with papers. I honestly didn't care what they were when I dumped out it's contents, and in return a rusty old key came out.

After inspecting the key, I mindlessly pocketed it and continued to put away my mother's stuff in boxes as if they were christmas decorations that would never be opened again.


End file.
